


In A Warped Time

by LochCamaen



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Caleb Dies AU, Depa Lives AU, Gen, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 19:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5978305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LochCamaen/pseuds/LochCamaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a single moment, history is changed forever and Depa Billaba is faced with a life she was never meant to have.</p><p>Depa lives AU, prompt taken from sheepfulsheepyardinspace's post on Tumblr. Cross-posted on FF.Net.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In A Warped Time

**Author's Note:**

> (I reposted this fic due to an error on AO3 that caused the publication date to be a week earlier than it actually was. Sorry for the inconvenience.)
> 
> I lied about no more SWR fic. Tumblr made me do it this time! Sheepfulsheepyardinspace made a wonderful post about a Depa lives AU, and we started talking about it. Then ideas. Then art. Now fic. 
> 
> This chapter is going to be VERY fast-paced, if only because I want to cover 15 years in less than 25,000 words, or otherwise this would have never been finished! Enjoy the feels. Chapter titles taken from ‘Alive’ by Sia, and lyrics are from ‘Bright Eyes’ by Simon And Art Garfunkel.

_Bright eyes,_

_Burning like fire._

_Bright eyes,_

_How can you close and fail?_

_How can the light that burned so brightly,_

_Suddenly burn so pale?_

_Bright eyes._

* * *

Depa knew it was all wrong the moment Caleb fell down to gunfire in front of her.

 

She screamed his name in vain as his lightsaber dropped to his feet and they kept _firing_ at him. She screamed again, standing over his body and deflecting more shots, knocking back two troopers. In a snap of her wrist, Depa pulled her padawan’s saber into her grip and shifted into a Jar'Kai form without a breath wasted.

 

She stood her ground, pushing down every twisted feeling and instinct that told her this was wrong. Her visions of this moment had portrayed a very different outcome; one she had been preparing her young padawan for. Yet, his life had flickered away instead of her’s.

 

She had failed him, just as she had to many before, and nothing ached her more than his bright eyes suddenly burning so pale, staring into nothing.

 

Styles called for his men to overpower her; she couldn't fight forever (just watch, anything to not think about the new emptiness that filled her bond with Mace). Depa knew she couldn't stay with her padawan (she would never stop fighting), nor could she flee with his body (she couldn't cremate him, she couldn't cremate Mace; she wouldn't let them burn her).

 

Stomping down every fear, every bit of rage and anguish, Depa pulled off her robes in one swift motion and threw them at the closest troopers before Force pushing them into the shooting crowd. The best shots all toppled over and the others changed their aim. She dodged with impeccable speed, taking one last brief look at Caleb's resting face (how could he look so peaceful when she was so torn apart? _Guide him, Master Windu, I beg you_ ) before taking his braid and holocron.

 

She ran, and ran, and _ran_. As fast as her legs would carry her, jumping into every shadow and avoiding every Blaster barrel pointed her way. She made it to the undercurrent of the nearby city, hiding with the garbage for shelter until she found an abandoned parka and headscarf to cover up her most distinctive features, let loose her long hair and fancy herself a dirty beggar, not a sudden fugitive. Under the shrinking darkness Depa stayed alert all the way to the ship ports, afraid to even blink or think. Afraid to feel the agonising screams of her brothers and sisters perishing across the galaxy; afraid to be caught and join her padawan.

 

One stray thought blindly entertained the idea of returning to the Coruscant temple, but was quickly shot down when she remembered how obvious a destination that was. It would only be safe to return home if a beacon was sent out, yet they were silent.

 

Styles and Grey patrolled the city that morning, forcing Depa to hide even further in the shadows until she found herself in the dirtiest part of town with a ship heading straight to Takodana, the infamous pirate trade stop of the last thousand years. As much as she hated to abandon Caleb to the new enemy, she knew it was best to get off planet as soon as possible. Getting a seat on board was hardly a problem but Depa felt that the blasters and cannons all around her would be one if the pilots found out they were boarding a member of the Jedi High Council.

 

Unable to sleep or even rest her blistered feet with her tightening heart and dropping stomach distracting her, Depa dared to reach out in the Force. The screams had subsided, but a few surfaced every other hour and were suddenly silenced. What had once been a warm, glowing comfort had become an icy desert of no life, and that was more painful than she could have ever imagined (but not as much as facing the abyss left by Caleb). She reached out further anyway but retracted upon meeting an intense cold anger clashing with a dimming light in the fiery depths of a lava world.

 

Depa curled up in her seat, reigning in every instinct to lash out, cry, and release every feeling that had been taught to her a a path to the Dark Side. Yet, they demanded freedom, the ultimate release out of her tired chest.

 

She had seen visions of her demise ever since taking on Caleb as her padawan (oh sweet Caleb, where was he know?), but when the time had come, he had not survived as the Force had told her he would. It had given her a false hope for him, the future of the Jedi, and taken everything else away from her.

 

Her heart broke again, hours later, when a strong cry in the Force died out and left two bright beacons. She shut herself off from her lifeline, unable to face the pain surrounding those new lives.

 

She recalled her own words to Caleb from just days ago, trying not to let her raw emotions rule her; to not brush against the Dark _again_. But she felt so empty otherwise, and she didn’t know what to do. She was alive, something she had never planned for or expected from a Force vision.

 

And it all felt so utterly wrong.

 

**0XX0**

 

Arriving on Takodana was much less eventful than Depa thought it would be (she guessed she was lucky to have boarded with those on the other side of the law; they knew how to avoid their hunters), but she stayed as alert as she could and planned ahead to the best of her ability. She had an alias, a cover story, and a few escape routes should she be recognised by a bounty hunter or the like while on-planet. Now she just needed… a purpose? A destiny? All she could do now was hide away from the Core Planets.

 

Her feet dragged her towards a castle on the edge of a large glistening lake surrounded by thick forest, feeling heavier than ever under the weight of the lightsabers on her hip (the holocron was tucked away, and his braid was hidden safely in a deep pocket). She kept her face hidden under a hood as she climbed up the stone steps and into the formidable castle fortress of Maz Kanata, one overflowing with bandits and creatures of all kinds (she had only heard of this place in the whispers of the pirates from her childhood. Needless to say, she was not comfortable being in this place).

 

She crawled deeper into the bowels of the castle, feeling every grime and flick of dirt up her back. The people blurred around her and her head felt light as she made her way to a seat tucked away at the back of the bar area. Everything ached and Depa sighed, if only to stop herself from wailing. She was just so tired; she didn’t even know why she was still bothering to stay alive. She didn’t have a role to play in this world.

 

“As far as you can see, but you may have one just yet.”

 

Depa jumped up and reached for her lightsaber, stopping when she finally registered the small alien woman standing by her table with a tray of empty glasses. Large goggles sat atop her bald orange head, and her small eyes were studying Depa intensely. She could feel the Force flow openly around this woman, yet it was neither overly Light nor Dark. She could only compare it to a pale grey.

 

“There’s no need for that here, unless you want to be taken to the new Emperor.” The woman pushed Depa’s lightsaber away with her free hand and then jumped up into the seat opposite her. Depa breathed deeply and reaffirmed herself, hiding her weapon once again.

 

“What do you want?” Her voice cracked, even at its hushed tone. She suddenly noticed how dry her lips and tongue were, and her throat began to ache.

 

“I would like to avoid a clonetrooper takeover of my castle.” The woman put her tray down and pushed it toward Depa. She saw small amounts of various drinks left at the bottoms of each one and carefully sipped from one. There was no warning in the Force, so she took another one (could she even trust the Force anymore? It had wronged her so much already).

 

“I’m number one enemy at the moment; why not turn me in, or save them the trouble?” Depa looked straight into the woman’s warm brown eyes. She reminded her so much of Master Yoda, yet she differed from him in many ways too. She couldn’t quite find the words to describe it.

 

“That is not the way of Maz Kanata, Master Jedi.” Depa narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. She had no energy for anything more spontaneous. “There has been a great disturbance. Have you felt it?”

 

How could she have not? It had happened right in front of her very eyes. “There has been much death in these past few days.”

 

“And you have done very well to avoid the same fate, but I was not talking about that.”

 

Depa’s lips pursed and her jaw tightened as she moved onto her third drink. Tapping into the Force had been painful, but she knew in her heart of hearts that everything was off balance, to a degree she never thought possible. Not from the purging of her family, but from the fact that she was breathing, and Caleb was not.

 

“Why?” She asked quietly, barely audible over the sounds of chatter and gambling.

 

“The Force is not wrong, child.” Maz said, answering the implied question. “There is still hope for you Jedi yet. It has barely begun to live now, but it will grow and grow until the Emperor falls to it. Time is all that is needed.”

 

“And?” Depa lifted her head up slightly, pulling back her headscarf to give Maz the best glare she could muster. ‘Time’ was not the answer she wanted or needed. She could have all the time in the world, but it wouldn’t right the wrong that was her survival.

 

“And, you have a place in all of this, despite what you may believe now.” Maz slipped her goggles over her eyes and leaned in closer to Depa. “The Force will not give it to you, so you must make your own. You being here was not meant to be, but it doesn’t mean it can’t be worked around.”

 

Depa tried to mull over those words. She knew what Maz was getting at; everything was twisted now that Caleb had fallen, and it was not her place to do what he was meant to. She could still play a part in that role, if only because the Force’s will was so awry now. Fate had changed, for the time being should the new hope continue in its course.

 

Or maybe she was delusional from exhaustion. Those words only just about made sense to her.

 

And there was still one question that was nagging her.

 

“Why should I believe you? Would things be right if I died now, as I was meant to?”

 

Maz’s wrinkled hand found her’s and squeezed it. Depa bowed her head, feeling a lump in her throat and the chest ache return. Maz said something in a language she didn’t understand, and she felt her chin lift up.

 

“I see it in your eyes. That is your grief talking, child.” Her voice was warm and gentle, like Depa imagined a mother’s would be (she imagined she spoke like that to Caleb once upon a time). She blinked fast and inhaled sharply, reciting the Code under her breath; Emotion, yet peace. Chaos, yet harmony.

 

Death, yet the Force.

 

Yet it still hurt.

 

Maz kept talking to her but Depa faded it out, listening only to her own heartbeat until her heavy eyelids began to take over her mental state. Hands led her away from the table and the commotion of business, luring her into a deep state of numbness that slipped into a first sleep upon meeting a soft mattress.

 

**0XX0**

 

When she woke up many hours later, it was to her holocron shifting in her tunic. She pulled it out and rubbed her sore eyes; wasn’t she in a bar? Where was that Maz pirate?

 

The holocron floated up from her palm, changing its form and flashing an alarm for a new message. Depa’s head snapped up and she gasped softly. A message from the Temple!

 

She jumped up onto her feet, almost toppling over from the sheer force, and let the holocron spread out to protect a hologram from its core. Master Kenobi’s image appeared and his face was calm but grave. Depa sat down on the bed and watched as he spoke.

 

“This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.” He started, his voice betraying the haunted look in his eyes. “I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen, with the dark shadow of the Empire rising to take their place. This message is a warning and a reminder for any surviving Jedi: _trust_ in the Force.

 

Do not return to the Temple. That time has passed, and our future is uncertain. Avoid Coruscant. Avoid detection. Be secret... but be strong. We will each be challenged: our trust, our faith, our friendships. But we must persevere and, in time, I believe a new hope will emerge. May the Force be with you, always.”

 

Depa took a shaky breath as the holocron closed up and dropped into her hand. She clutched it tightly, knuckles turning white but she didn’t feel it. A numbness filled her heart and head, and she covered her face with her free hand.

 

It was all over.

 

She had nothing, and no one.

 

The Code went off like a mantra in her head, but even that couldn’t stop fresh tears from falling down her dirtied cheeks. She didn’t sob, scream or wail as she had known others to do when faced with grave reality. She barely made a noise, only hiccuping as she wiped her face dry. Tears kept dripping anyway.

 

Depa was hiding her face behind her headscarf (was it her or was it cleaner now?) when the door to the room opened and Maz walked in, a disheveled look all about her.

 

“You’ve finally heard.” Depa only nodded, lowering her head to her chest and sniffing back the grief pangs dominating her soul. Maz closed the door behind her and crossed the small bare room to sit down next to Depa, who was now weeping openly.

 

Maz muttered in her language again and put a hand on her shoulder, pulling her goggles off of her eyes.

 

“That was sent out some time ago, but now you know.” Maz said quietly. “It’s perfectly fine to grieve.”

 

“Emotion, yet peace,” Depa replied, her voice cracking just above a whisper. “I know that too well. I lost my sister on Geonosis… but this is somehow much worse. I should feel something, but I am nothing.”

 

Maz’s eyes widened a bit but she nodded anyway. “You did well to pass that teaching on. It’s been lost on most Jedi.”

 

Depa said nothing. Maz let out a breath.

 

“You have no reason to believe me,” Maz continued after a moment, taking her hand off Depa and curling it in her lap. “I am no Jedi - far too delusioned over the centuries - but I know the Force; I know what is right.”

 

“And what is that?”

 

“Keeping you alive, despite what you may belief at the moment.”

 

“I’m a memory of the old way, the way that’s died.” Depa stood up in one fluid movement, turning to face Maz. “My padawan, someone unburdened by our archaic teachings, should have lived to create an Order that could brought a whole new era away from darkness.”

 

She had taught Caleb such things, prepared him to leave the Jedi ways behind with ease; prepared him for the future she saw him cultivate. One she - and the thousands of others in the Order - could not do as a Jedi of old.

 

“You have accepted it then?” Maz asked.

 

“No, not yet.” Depa admitted, willing her spirit not to break. “I knew what I was meant to sacrifice myself for. A higher purpose.”

 

“That has changed, obviously.” Maz shook her head in defeat, slipping off the bed and putting her goggles back over her eyes. “I can help you get onto a ship, perhaps with a less ‘archaic’ design to your wardrobe--”

 

Depa frowned, looking down at her robes. They _were_ practically a target on her back for any trooper.

 

“--but that is all I can do. My place is in my home here, not getting into trouble with the new government.”

 

Maz left Depa to herself in the sunlight beaming down from the window high in the wall. Depa took in the room around her; the bed was the most decorated piece of furniture in here. There was an empty desk and chair made for someone half her height.

 

She sat down on the floor, leaning against the bed with her legs crossed underneath her, but she had no mind to meditate at a time like this. She still kept the Force closed off, unknowing if she could handle the cold silence anymore. She’d have to face it one day, but would it heal or just rip off the bleeding scab to pour salt into the wound?

 

If she were to get onto a ship, with her new name and a new life of hiding and surviving waiting for her… where could she go? Where was her place in this new terrifying time? Did she even have one? Maz had said to make her own if she so chose.

 

But where to start?

 

**0XX0**

 

Depa didn’t see Maz again after the visit, but she got what was promised to her in due manner. The new garbs were simple but would allow her to blend into any crowd in the Mid or Outer Rim. A written passage onto a cargo ship would take her on a one-way trip to any Outer Rim planet she wished.

 

She gave deep thought to this choice as she changed out of her robes and into the clothes given to her (nothing special; just pants, a long coat over a dark tunic, a green headscarf, and a holster for whatever weapon Maz thought she would protect herself with from now on). The Outer Rim was her safest bet for hiding from the Galactic Empire, but she didn’t know much about it outside of battle reports. Could she search for sympathetic allies from the war days?

 

She didn’t have any herself that far out from the Core worlds. Her close friends certainly didn’t have any that would oppose the new presiding government for more than a few days. She thought of her Master and the allies he had collected over the years. She remembered the kinds of people he paired himself with: strong, resilient, proud, and headstrong. The people that would not stand with the Emperor, no matter the threats and oppression they faced.

 

In the Outer Rim, only one name stood out to her: Ryloth.

 

Mace had aided the Twi’lek resistance fighters in rising up against the Separatist occupiers and freed the planet from their control. They would never bend their knee to the Empire, and they might be sympathetic to her predicament. Even if they weren’t, she could make a place in one of the many cities until it was time for her to move on with a new reputation.

 

She had to at least try.

 

**0XX0**

 

Depa Billaba was left behind on Takodana and in her place, Dura Joti boarded the _Harlock_ cargo ship with instructions to drop her off in Ryloth’s capital city, Lessu. The captain didn’t recognise the name, thankfully (she supposed only Chalactans would know the name of the legendary Adept) and told her that the trip would take about ten hours or longer if they met any trouble along the way.

 

Dura made her seat in the belly of the ship, along with a dozen other passengers, and sent a silent thanks to Maz. She could start over now and maybe start her journey to reconciling with the Force, then with her grief. Caleb entered her thoughts often, no matter what she did to keep him out (she had to keep it together; he only reminded her of how much she _hurt_ ), and she still couldn’t reach out in the Force. She was sure it had left her completely; surely it wasn’t meant to be so stiff and hollow to its own children?

 

She stayed in her thoughts and musing for all hours of the trip, paying no heed to those around her just as they did her. Even so, she kept her senses on high alert - one could never be too cautious in these trying times - up to landing in the docking bay in Lessu.

 

The capital city didn’t have the grandiose or might of other cities Dura had been to in the past (she could understand that after all the years of battle and conflict that had forced most of the Twi’lek populace underground), but there was something to be admired about a home built on the steep sides of a towering mountain that had endured time after time.

 

Aimless and almost certainly lost, Dura wandered up the spiralling streets in search for any sign of the Twi’lek commander her master had gained the support of. Cham Syndulla was a type of nobleman among his people, but that didn’t guarantee that he would be living high above them. Would he still be dwelling underground after liberating his world from the enemy?

 

She avoided the eyes of the few clonetroopers stationed on guard around the ship ports, scanning for a more trustworthy source to inquire about Syndulla’s location. By the time she neared the summit of the city, she was mulling over whether or not to accept the Force’s guidance. Her heart tightened at the thought of feeling the emptiness again, but her mind rightfully reasoned that it was the best thing to do.

 

Breathing deeply and calming herself, Dura opened herself up and reached out. The frigidness was still present but she pushed past it, feeling for any presence of the man she was seeking. The energy flowed all around her, and much further. She felt many lives, barely touched upon, as she went further into the caverns and homes of these people. Some glowed brightly - maybe in another life they could have been padawans and Knights - while others were as dim as a faraway moon, but they were _there_. There was life within the Force still, even if she couldn’t take the same comfort in them as she could with her family.

 

Cham Syndulla finally appeared through the Force after some time, buried deep in the caverns underneath the city along with dozens of others she guessed were his military comrades. Dura moved on through Lessu, keeping an open line to the Force - and Cham - until she found her way to a hidden entrance in the deserted parts of the city, far away from the prying eyes of diligent troopers.

 

She slipped into the underground and picked up her pace, trailing the dirt walls as she felt Syndulla’s presence grow. Anxiety chipped at her as she thought of the prospect of him turning her away; she knew she could survive, but she needed an ally, or some kind of validation that she wasn’t truly alone. She just needed _something_.

 

Dura felt a group moving toward her and snapped off her connection to the Force, hand hovering over her hidden lightsabers. It was more out of habit than an actual need to protect herself (though there was the slight chance it could come to that). Four Twi’lek guards entered the hallway, pointing blasters at Dura and surrounding her.

 

“I have come to see Cham Syndulla.” She announced in broken Ryl, earning cautious looks and glares from the guards. “I mean no harm.”

 

“What are your intentions?” A female Twi’lek stepped forward, blaster ready to fire at any minute. Dura held her hands up to her head, looking her straight on.

 

“Syndulla once allied himself with a close friend of mine. I have come to see if he will still honour the alliance in my time of need.” She explained, which did nothing to move the blasters away from her. She was starting to feel like she was surrounded by clones rather than wary Twi’leks. _Keep yourself grounded._

 

One of the other guards took a comm link from his belt and spoke into it, still watching Dura. An accented voice came through the comm loud and clear, prompting the guards to lower their weapons. Dura raised an eyebrow at them.

 

“You’re coming with us.” She nodded, keeping her arms up as they formed a circle around her and moved on down the cavern.

 

They marched for several long minutes before Dura was brought into a large open area in the caverns, where groups of Twi’lek were gathered together around tables and booths spread out across the floor, all speaking in their native tongue. One group in particular was located at the largest table in the centre, and they all turned towards her and the guards as they neared. Dura was pushed toward a tall Twi’lek man, donned in dark armour with long peach lekku hanging down his back. His strong features and stern stare made his position as leader all too obvious.

 

“Cham Syndulla.” He nodded to the guards and they backed off, leaving him alone with Dura. She straightened herself and swallowed, squaring her feet assuringly. Now as not the time to crumble.

 

“I have heard that you wish to speak to me.” He said bluntly in the accent she had heard on the comm earlier. “Say your piece.”

 

No wonder Mace had considered him a great ally. She cleared her throat before speaking: “I am Dura Joti, born Depa Billaba, and raised as the padawan of Mace Windu--”

 

A spark of recognition flashed in Cham’s eyes.

 

“--You allied yourself with my Master and liberated Ryloth from the Separatists together; I came here to ask that you honour that alliance once again.”

 

“I have heard of the crimes the Jedi have committed against the Senate,” Cham put his hands behind his back, posturing like the general he was. Dura felt her stomach drop but refused to back down. “I knew the Jedi better than most, and I know those crimes to be lies from the new Emperor.”

 

“I sense you have more to say.” Dura prodded, narrowing her eyes up at him.

 

“The Master Jedi,” Cham glanced around her, frowning slightly. “He did not survive the attacks, did he?”

 

Dura pursed her lips and sighed through her nose, ignoring the gap of their bond. “He was the first to fall to Order 66.”

 

“I see.” He bowed his head, lekku barely swaying with any life. “My condolences. Your Master was not a man to disappoint me; I suppose that was admirable.”

 

“Thank you, General.” Dura nodded, chewing on her lip. Now was better than ever, right? “I need shelter from the Empire, until I can make my own place elsewhere in safety.”

 

Cham studied her, taking in her disguise, trying to determine where she was hiding the evidence to her identity. Others around them were starting to take notice of the conversation and were waiting for their leader’s response with baited breath. Dura could only guess what they thought of her.

 

“And you thought your relationship to your Master would guarantee that from me?” Cham asked, earning loud murmurs from the crowd. Dura braced herself; she should have known he would have responded like this. How could she have been so blind…?

 

“I only wished to ask, and let you know of why I came to you specifically,” She willed her voice to stay steady and keep her gaze level to his. It was harder than she expected, but she was getting used to that kind of situation now. “I’ll be frank with you: I have nowhere else to go. I can be of use to you.”

 

“Harbouring a fugitive Jedi is a most risky move.” Cham stepped forward, coming face-to-face with Dura and looking down at her. She tensed and clenched her jaw. “Doing so would turn Ryloth into a target, and put all of my people in extreme danger.”

 

“The Empire is hunting Depa Billaba of the Jedi High Council,” Dura replied in a quick breath, not sparing even a second. “Dura Joti is not what they are looking for.”

 

“What use is another human to Ryloth?” Dura kept her eyes on Cham as he began to circle her. The crowd peered closer, putting them both on display. She suddenly felt like a padawan facing the Council of Masters, waiting for their decision on her trials. Except that now she was battling for a right of protection; her very life was on the line.

 

“I wasn’t _just_ a Jedi, Syndulla.” She bit back, feeling all the eyes on her and standing higher for it. “I was a general, a student, a Master, and so much more. Those parts of me haven’t died.”

 

“Only the Jedi has?”

 

“She died with her padawan on Kaller at the dawn of the Empire’s rise.” Cham came in front of Dura again and their eyes met, both as hard and determined as the other. An eerie silence fell between them and Dura felt at ease in it, remembering the times she spent hours and hour debating with Mace about the Order and the Code.

 

Cham broke off from Dura to glance over into the crowd and she followed, spotting several young children peeking through the legs of the adults surrounding them. His eyes softened and he put a hand on her shoulder.

 

“Then take this chance to prove that you have a place here.” Cham said loudly, echoing throughout the chamber. The crowd spoke up, hands and blasters in the air, inducting Dura to their cause and their lives. She breathed in new energy into her lungs at long last, finally grasping just a sliver of the stability she was wishing for.

 

**0XX0**

 

Dura was given food, drink and a temporary place to sleep until something else could be secured for her in the city. She had no possessions to decorate her new space with, so she just placed her lightsabers and holocron on the cot, and took out Caleb’s braid to lay in her palms.

 

This kind of attachment was exactly what she had been taught to let go of and avoid in the weeks after Sar’s death, and with the guidance of the Council it had been easy enough. But now, on her own with no support?

 

Letting go was the last thing she wanted to do to Caleb.

 

A soft knock on her door stirred Dura out of her thoughts and she put the braid away, calling for the visitor to enter. The door opened slowly and a young Twi’lek girl stepped in shyly, peering up at Dura with her bright green eyes that matched her skin and vibrant energy radiating through the Force. She wasn’t Force-Sensitive, no, but she shone like any innocent life did.

 

“Hello, little one.” Dura greeted, walking over to the door to kneel in front of the girl. To her credit, she didn’t flinch away from the tall stranger. “Who are you?”

 

“I’m Hera.” The girl said in a high-pitched voice that made her sound much younger than she probably was. She moved away from the door, letting it close behind her, and fiddled with her long fingers. “Are you a human?”

 

“Chalactans are Near-Human, so not really.” Dura pulled back her headscarf to show off her two forehead jewels to Hera, who was pouting. “Buuut, there’s not a huge difference to be honest. No one can tell us apart unless you ask.”

 

Hera beamed again, staring in awe at the jewels and at her long hair flowing over her shoulder. Her fingers twitched in excitement and she bounced on her bare heels.

 

“Have you ever flown a star ship?”

 

“Not personally, but I have flown through space.”

 

“What’s it like, being so high? Do pilots get to do all those spinny tricks the Jedi ships did on the droids? What kind of ships are there? Lotsa big ones? Thin ones?”

 

Dura’s heart shouldn’t have throbbed in pain as she listened to Hera pile question after question onto her, but she couldn’t help but compare her to the youngling she had watched in Kenobi’s class all those months ago. The one who had asked in order to better understand what he had been taught, while this young girl begged to be taught anything about the ships and stars she loved so much.

 

“I suppose you like starships, then?” Dura asked. Hera nodded and laughed softly.

 

“I wanna fly up there when I grow up.” Hera twiddled her thumbs, swaying her lekku over her shoulders. “I’ll have my own ship and crew too!”

 

Dura smiled, rubbing Hera’s head as if she had hair. “You’ll make a wonderful pilot.”

 

“You think so?” Hera beamed again, shining so brightly that Dura was tempted to close her eyes. She didn’t; who knew when (or if) she’d see a light like this ever again.

 

“I know so.” Dura tapped Hera’s nose with her finger and then pushed herself up onto her feet, dusting off her knees (how could they be so sore already? She was barely 35). Hera kept watching her from her spot as Dura sat down on her cot, attaching her lightsabers to her belt. She’d have to figure out a better way of hiding them on her person.

 

She glanced over to Hera, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Shouldn’t you get back to your parents, little one?” Hera shrugged and shifted on her feet. “I’m sure they’re worried about you.”

 

Hera shrugged again and grunted, then moved closer to her. Dura sat down on her cot, resting her chin in her palm.

 

“Have you met a human before?” She asked. Hera jumped, cheeks flushing immediately as she shook her head and averted her eyes. Dura just smiled again, patting the spot on the cot next to her. Hera ran over and jumped up to sit.

 

“What would you like to know?”

 

**0XX0**

 

It had been well over a month since Caleb had died and Dura’s life had been turned upside down, but it had felt like years since arriving on Ryloth. The freedom fighters were only in their early stages of planning their fight against the Empire (it was hard to plan so far ahead when the only hint of a hostile takeover was rising numbers of clonetroopers stationed in Lessu and the surrounding towns), and Dura was only just making herself accustomed to the way of life in the underground.

 

Cham had told her that if she wasn’t going to fight like a Jedi (she was sure she heard disappointment in his voice), then she should learn to aim a blaster or train herself with another weapon. Dura agreed and found a pair of old short swords to practice, along with a warrior who was willing to train her (fighting in lightsaber forms would be a dead giveaway, no matter what she tried to hide it).

 

It was during one of the training sessions that a young Twi’lek brought a radio and scanning equipment to the edge of the sparring ring to work on. It wasn’t enough to distract the lesson, so Dura ignored it for the most part.

 

Until a new voice broke an Imperial news broadcast.

 

“Attention, citizens of the Outer Rim Territories!” A male voice came through the static bursts. He was young but his strength came through his words. “This message is being broadcast to you all to reveal the lies and slander the Empire has been feeding us since its inception. We must rise up! We cannot stand for a corrupt government that controls its citizens through fear and deceit…”

 

Dura went through the motions of defending herself from her partner’s blows, all attention focused on the voice speaking out between flashes of Imperial reports and attempts to shut it off. It finally faded out into an announcement from Governor Tarkin, which was quickly tuned out. All three of them stared at the radio speaker, wrapping their heads around what they had just heard.

 

_We’re not alone._

 

**0XX0**

 

The broadcasts had no schedule or pattern, even to the point of switching the speaker to a woman every now and then. When they started in the day, when many were in the caverns, a group would gather around the radio to listen in before the Empire blocked out the inspiring words.

 

Dura got herself a small speaker to pick up transmissions from the main radio on base so she could listen in her private quarters. Needless to say, the words against the Empire had become a highlight in her routine even though she had only heard them a handful of times.

 

There were allies out there, willing to stand and fight against the new rulers. The technicians had speculated that the source of the broadcasts were from an Outer Rim planet, close to the Mid Rim to have been affected by the Empire already. Even so, the Emperor had barely gone anywhere near this territory in his conquest of the galaxy (Ryloth was one of the few planets to have a senator on Coruscant; one who gave up their power to the Empire as soon as possible.

 

Ryloth had already been declared a protectorate - controlled but autonomous. Cham wouldn’t let anyone believe a word of it and encouraged stronger movement to rebel for the good of their home).

 

Whoever these brave people were, they were hardly in the same position of danger from the Empire as those in the Core Worlds were. Yet they made themselves public enemies by speaking out so early and vigorously.

 

They truly believed in freedom, and Dura felt at ease with her new bearings. She could fight knowing that she wasn’t doing it alone. Remembering the words took away the loneliness.

 

Never for long, though.

 

Even working alongside the Twi’lek freedom fighters didn’t stave off that worrisome feeling. With the shift in powers from the senator, Hutt slavers had been using the slip in attention to kidnap hundreds of Twi’leks to ship off for sale. Cham’s clan had already seen over two thousand taken off-planet for horrors untold; he wouldn’t allow anymore to be ripped from their loved ones if he could help it.

 

When reports came flooding in that slavers were raiding a small town a few miles east of Lessu, Dura volunteered herself to help counter them and free captives. Cham had initially debated her on the matter, but she persevered and was allowed to go.

 

The slavers were rioting through the town streets and taking whoever they could grab by the time the rescue team arrived. Not a moment was spared once their speeders stopped. Dura held onto her blades (a pair of vibroblades smuggled into Lessu) and sped through the streets, cutting down anyone she saw without lekku in search for transports they were using.

 

The Force prodded at her, pushing her one way or the other. Dura cut it off, resisting any guidance from the universal life that had lied to her, and made her way to the edge of the town. A transport, full to the brink with newfound slaves, was being started up by a pair of Siniteens in a hurry to escape wrathful Twi’leks.

 

She yelled at them, scaring them out of their wits, and rushed toward the transport with blades ready to end the conflict. The engine roared into life and they accelerated into the volcanic plainlands. Dura kept up the chase.

 

She ran faster than most thought possible, taking advantage of the rugged landscape to catch up to the transport when the holes and bumps forced the slavers to slow down, lest they crash and lose their payment. Her breathing became heavy, but she kept going, only just able to hear the cries of the Twi’leks inside.

 

The transport swerved around a large mound but Dura did not follow their curve. She went up the hill and sprang up into the air as the vehicle resumed its path. Time seemed to slow down as she slammed her blades into the thick metal and gripped onto the roof with her boots. The cries became louder as the transport tried to shake her off. Dura pulled her blades out, crawling closer to the drivers pit at the front. Strong winds blew against her, working with the slavers to rid them of her. She growled and held onto the growling metal until she was close enough to pierce a blade into the hull, hitting something solid underneath.

 

Control was lost and Dura slipped over to face the drivers, seeing that she had stabbed the shoulder of the one behind the wheel. They stared in fear of her, spinning the controls wildly. She didn’t let go, only tightening as she threw down her second blade into the engine.

 

The fear grew and the transport spluttered, roared and groaned all at once before smoking and tilting dangerously. Dura put her weight on the opposite side, as did the slavers.

 

“Cut the engine and **_surrender_ **!” She ordered in her most threatening voice, which did the trick. Power was cut and the brakes were activated, slowing the transport down enough for Dura to retrieve her blades safely and jump off. She just about tore the doors off their hinges and dragged each Siniteen out, staring them down into submission before going to the hold’s doors.

 

She broke the locks with a slash of a blade and opened the doors wide, looking inside at the faces of dozens of terrified Twi’lek men, women and children. They were all chained together at the ankle and had their hands cuffed as well, tethering them to the wall. She frowned at the sight and shattered the chains at the wall first.

 

“You’re free to return home,” Dura said loudly, stepping aside as the front of the crowd moved out into the open, sighing relief. “Is anybody injured?”

 

A few voices rose up, announcing deep grazes and twisted ankles - nothing too serious. The slavers should consider themselves lucky. Dura went over to them, smirking when she saw that they hadn’t moved. The key to the locks were hanging off the injured Siniteen’s belt and she swiped them, glaring them down once again. She unlocked the cuffs and chains off a few before giving them keys to sort out.

 

Dura looked over the transport as she put her blades in their sheath (her lightsaber was still hidden inside it, thank Force; Caleb’s was separated and attached to her belt). There was no way it was going to drive them anywhere now, they would have to walk back to the town… which was now a couple miles away.

 

She sighed, glancing over the free Twi’leks celebrating quietly over their rescue, and smiled. This is what a Jedi was: a protector of the innocent. Not a general or commander, but someone who served the people of the galaxy. After years of broiling in war, it was only now that she had run from the Order (what was there left to run from, honestly?) that she felt like she fit the role.

 

She allowed herself a small smile, but peace was still far from her mind.

 

**0XX0**

 

Returning to the base that day was met with words of congratulation and a nod of acknowledgement (Cham’s speciality). As higher officers gathered together to plan patrol routes and guard shifts for nearby towns and villages, as well as contact cell leaders elsewhere on Ryloth, Dura retreated to her own quarters to put up her feet. She would have stayed behind, but she felt out of place among Cham’s people.

 

As she neared her room, Dura felt a twinge at the back of her mind. She slowed down, staying near the wall, and looked around the cave. There were a few citizens walking about calmly, and no one else.

 

She kept moving, pushing back on that feeling until she reached her door. Then it refused to stay locked up.

 

A breathing mask flashed in front of her eyes, encompassing her entire vision. Its eyes were static grey slabs - cold - and the mechanical face was nothing but sharp fury personified. A red light cut down a thousand screams, growing and engulfing more lives than she could count.

 

The vision released her and she gasped for air, tumbling through her door and slipping into the room before she was seen. Dura leaned against the door for support, collecting herself as more images came to her.

 

She knew the presence she was seeing: the Dark Side. She had _felt_ this one before, a lifetime ago when it clashed with the Light on the fire world. It had won. She rested her head on her knees, closing her eyes.

 

A yellow-eyed Pau’an materialised in her sight, dressed in the same black hatred, and holding a red lightsaber. A Darth? No, but the Jedi heads he was collecting in front of her told her he was just as dangerous. Padawans shrouded in darkness followed him, baring their teeth in sadistic smiles at the fallen bodies at their feet.

 

Dura forced herself away from the vision this time, heaving for breath - anything to fill her lungs. She wrapped her arms around her legs, staring out over the room and willing herself to stop shaking (she couldn’t stop, she couldn’t stop them…).

 

_Why would you show me this? Why?_

 

A soothing hum flowed over her, steadying her and pouring reassurance into her mind. It reached into her and she saw another life. A young man, flying in the stars; surrounded by loving family… all while grasping Caleb’s lightsaber.

 

_No!_

 

She jumped up and marched to her cot, away from the light of home that was so desperately trying to pull her back.

 

“Don’t you _dare…_ don’t you dare betray me again.”

 

It reached for her again. She cut it off, gritting her teeth to stop a harsh sob from coming out. She had moved past the initial denial, straight into the anger. At the Force, the Order, the Empire. Herself, most of all. It sulked at the edges of her mind, waiting for an outburst (she had almost let it win when she fought the slavers).

 

She was scared as well. Downright terrified of what would happen if she unleashed her anger. She knew she could not (and should not) suppress her emotions, but she didn’t know if the anger would pass. Or if it would hold onto her until she fell to the Dark Side again. Anything but that.

 

Was this why the Order discouraged open emotion? It made sense. This kind of pain could send anybody away from the Light.

 

Dura would persevere, she knew it. She _had_ to. She just didn’t know how yet.

 

**0XX0**

 

Time passed for Dura, and her routine slowly became life. Cham had given her a ‘permanent’ position on the local rescue team, and she knew that he had more-or-less accepted her as her own person. Words were never said about it, but she knew that he wanted to judge her away from the reputation of her Master. He at least trusted her enough to guard his oldest daughter, Hera, when she went out for paying jobs that would get her, her own freighter ship one day.

 

She swapped her long vibroblades for a dual short sword, which she fitted with a vibrogenerator and an electric taser on each blade (some younglings asked her if she was a rogue Kage warrior during a sparring session one day; she’d smiled sadly). Her lightsabers were only touched in the rare moments she attempted to meditate with the holocron, otherwise they were kept hidden in her sword sheath and belts.

 

Her look changed as well. Her once simple outfit was added to continuously, and Hera had even experimented with her hair (she had seen some on the pirated Holonet and desperately wanted to replicate them), giving her a stylish way to hide her Chalactan culture by tying her headscarf into a long braid over her shoulder (the little imp had given her a green scarf too, just to leave her signature somewhere) with a ring crown to hold it down. She brought herself some shoulder plating and bits of armour to give her as much protection as possible without slowing her down in battle.

 

Green was slowly becoming her own trademark colour.

 

The broadcasts continued as well. Dura was glad to hear the voices every time, knowing that the Empire hadn’t found them yet. Not for lack of trying; Dura had seen troopers publically destroy a family’s radio set when the broadcast came through on it. The Outer Rim rebels were enemy number one, and Dura couldn’t be more proud.

 

Until the day she heard something troubling during a transmission.

 

She and several others had gathered around the radio to listen in, as per usual. It started as it normally would, giving a brief synopsis of the Empire’s activities within the Outer Rim and then ripping them apart. As they were explaining violent Imperial movement on Lasan, a distant cry sounded in the background, only to be cut off by a burst of static.

 

Dura sat up to attention, leaning toward the speakers. “Can you go back? I heard something?”

 

The young Twi’lek looked over her equipment and nodded hesitantly. “Only a few seconds.”

 

“That’s all I need.”

 

Those seconds were played again and Dura heard the cry, even more clear now that she was focusing on it. “Did you hear that?”

 

“Probably just some street noise.” Someone in the back piped up.

 

“No no, it was a person.” Dura furrowed her brows, biting down on her knuckle in concentration. “I’m sure of it.”

 

“It sounded like a baby.” A woman stepped forward, carrying her own young on her hip. Dura glanced between her and the radio, comparing the two sounds. Worst of all, she was right.

 

“Bantha fodder…” She cursed under her breath, slouching forward in her seat. The Twi’leks around her began to mutter in Ryl and a few came closer to her, asking all sorts of questions. What did this mean? Why did it matter? Was the baby important?

 

“It means,” She started loudly, quieting those around her. “that they have far more to lose than they anticipate.”

 

Voices rose up again, panic starting to settle in. These rebels were suddenly mortal to them; able to be taken down like any of them in a single moment. The baby could be used against them, one argued. Their love for the child would strengthen their resolve, another said. It went back and forth, all while Dura stared at nothing.

 

No, they just had someone who could be taken away from them.

 

**0XX0**

 

It was following a morning shower that Dura found grey hairs intertwined with her dark waves. She stared at them in the mirror, pulling them away for a closer inspection. The strands were a natural, dark grey, blending in nicely in their infancy.

 

Had she really been here that long?

 

She had seen other signs of the passage of time, of course. Hera had grown in a lovely young woman, as had the other children Dura had come to know. The Empire’s presence on Ryloth had grown (she had helped bomb no less than ten Imperial stations) and their control had tightened, all while telling the Senate that the local government had given permission for everything. Cham himself was certainly not getting any younger, but his zeal for freedom had never diminished.

 

Her thoughts drifted to Caleb, as they did on the days she wasn’t distracted enough. Were Styles and Grey still active? Killed in the line of duty? Still hunting for her? She had seen the clones become obsolete in the Empire’s grand plan, and stormtroopers had taken their place. She was glad; they were easier to cut down. Dura, for all her luck and fortune, had managed to evade Jedi hunters in this part of the Territories. Closing herself off from the Force (no matter how grueling it was) and sticking to her dual blades had kept suspicious eyes off her.

 

She was still scared of the hunters, down to her core. Especially the Pau’an she saw in her nightmarish visions.

 

A loud knock came from the door, along with a voice. “Dura? There’s a line out here!”

 

“Coming, one moment!” She dried off her hair quickly, clipped her belts on and zipped up her boots with not a moment wasted. She unlocked the communal shower doors and walked out, seeing Hera waiting for her with a few disgruntled women.

 

“Good morning.” Hera greeted as she and Dura walked away from the showers. The young Twi’lek was donned in her most rustic shirt and pants, with only her brand new headset and goggles giving away her plans for the day.

 

“Are you excited?” Dura asked, smiling at Hera. She laughed and nodded, biting down on her lip to trap down an even louder giggle. “I thought so.”

 

“Wouldn’t you be? My first ship! I’ll be able to go out there, fight the big fight against the Empire!” Hera pumped her fist in the air, practically buzzing with energy for her new lot in life.

 

She had spent years working jobs and trading around the planet to pay for the old light freighter ship she now owned. It was a beaten up VCX-100 model, with a few modifications added to it that Hera was proud to say she did all by herself. She had no crew or astromech yet to help her, but Dura knew she would attract them in time.

 

Her only obstacle was Cham’s opinion of Hera leaving. He viewed it as her abandoning her family for a fight that wasn’t her’s (Dura knew he was worried about not being able to keep her safe at home, but he couldn’t lock her up). Many loud arguments had been heard throughout the catacombs, and in the end, Hera defied him and made plans to meet up with rebel informants.

 

Dura didn’t like it either; Hera was as much a light in her life as her padawan had been, but she knew that the girl was meant for bigger and brighter things. She had a destiny too important to ignore.

 

The Empire would learn to fear her name.

 

“Do remember that you have people here, Hera.” Dura said, stopping at the open end of the cave. Hera sighed, heaving her shoulders back and giving her a soft look.

 

“I know, I know. I’ll drop by to visit, I promise.”

 

“Good.”

 

“And I’ll call every week to let you know I’m alive.”

 

“You think you’re so glib, don’t you?” Dura gave Hera a dirty look, to which she smirked and shrugged. Dura slapped her arm and Hera burst out laughing. She shook her head and wondered aloud what she had done to deserve such an insolent child.

 

“I’ll be fine, Dura.” Hera said after getting her last laugh out, placing a hand on her shoulder to squeeze it. “You’ve got a comm link to my ship if you need me to hurry back.”

 

“I’m not that desperate.” But she smiled anyway. “Make those Imps run from your shadow, sei ercio.”

 

“They’ll be wishing they’d never taken over the galaxy when I’m done with them.”

 

They laughed and shared their farewells, making promises to each other that they both knew weren’t certain to be kept. As Hera left the underground for the last time, Dura felt lonelier than ever before.

 

**0XX0**

 

It had been about five months by the time anyone noticed that the infamous Bridger Transmissions had come to a complete halt. Dura heard it from the curious radio technicians first and came to realise it as truth when she found the usual broadcast waves to be eerily silent. No static, no humming or buzzing. Just nothing.

 

The technicians all testified that the signal hadn’t been blocked. The Bridgers had most likely been taken into custody by the Empire, to be executed or suffer for their rallying cries for freedom from tyranny.

 

Spirits sunk at the news. They had seen this coming, but they had all hoped it would stay speculation, instead of an evening report. Cham encouraged them all to focus on their mission to free Ryloth and intercept the incoming Imperial transmissions for any sign of the Emperor’s grip tightening on their world (there was rumour that the Emperor and one of his top men would be heading to Ryloth to crush them in due time, but nothing had come through Cham’s inside sources.

 

If it came to be true, Dura knew she’d have to leave permanently).

 

Without her reassurance, Dura spent the rest of the day in her surface home. She sat in a meditative pose in her bedroom, lightsabers and holocron sitting opposite her on the floor. Questions flooded her mind, all half-answered and overbearing her.

 

Her time on Ryloth was coming to a close, and in the past seven years, she had never given herself a single moment to plan for this. Burdened by her warring feelings over Caleb’s death, she had gone to distracting herself from thinking about him. She had run from her problem, in the hopes of finding an answer along the way.

 

All she had done was leave it to grow wild. She had been utterly foolish to do so. She had been blinded to reason, and there was a chance it could ruin her should she face it now.

 

One day, when she had no one to worry about, but now she needed a bit of guidance. She hadn’t opened up to the Force willingly in many moons, only pushing it out when it filled her nights with killers and a future that never happened. She had no one else to turn to. The burning grazes of blaster shots fired up on her back and shoulders, and she shuddered them away.

 

_Fool me once, shame on you…_

 

Dura sat up straight and breathed in deeply, closing her eyes and giving in. She willed the Force to return to her, surround her, keep her safe. A warm hold enveloped her, wrapping her in arms she had rejected for so long. She almost fell into a sleep, but jolted and regained her focus: _Where do I go?_

 

A string of static and words broke Dura’s concentration and she held in her gasp, twisting around to find the source. Her radio, somehow switched on all the way on the opposite side of the room, was blaring noise after noise.

 

“Typical.” She grumbled, getting up to turn it off. As she reached for the switch, however, a voice came through before she made contact.

 

“Som--od--Somebody h--help…” A child’s voice. Dura froze, even as the wave went quiet again. She remembered that baby’s cries, years ago. Was he safe? His parents had been taken or killed - he was alone, and calling out to the void for help. The Empire would go after him in no time (they’d shoot him down like they shot Caleb; they would have no mercy).

 

The living Force worked around her again and she reached for her comm link to Hera without thinking.

 

“Captain, I need a ride.”

 

**0XX0**

 

Dura sat in the cockpit of Hera’s as-of-yet unnamed ship (she had heard about three since coming on board) and twirled her holocron in her hands. She had reached out to the Force and it had given her a frightened child calling for help. It had a reason, she knew it. She stayed cautious; an old habit died hard.

 

Hera watched her from the pilot’s seat, having put the ship on autopilot with no destination. They were heading away from Ryloth and that was it. She was just waiting for Dura to give her an end goal to this sudden detour (right in the middle of a mission to get in touch with the elusive Fulcrum too; but Dura never called for help, so she knew she had to drop everything for her).

 

The older woman exhaled slowly, holding her holocron up in the air until it floated by itself. It opened up, spreading out to reveal a shining core. A hologram of a star map burst out to fill the air with a blue glow. Hera watched the stars and systems move about; she recognised a few of them, but it was mostly outdated. By several centuries.

 

Dura called out to the Force again, almost praying for a happier ending than she anticipated. She felt herself, as Depa Billaba, re-emerging to find a path to the boy.

 

The map shifted and spun, flying through dozens of systems in the Outer Rim and Wild Space before settling in the west of the Core Worlds, near the Mid Rim. A planet orbiting a large sun followed by twin moons was zoomed in on, and Hera leaned in closer.

 

“That’s Lothal.” She confirmed, looking over to Dura who hadn’t yet moved. “The Empire’s made a big move there in the past few years. Completely ruined the ecosystem and farming economy with their mining activities.”

 

“Go.” Was all Dura said, and it was all Hera needed. Setting the coordinates for Lothal, the ship made the jump into hyperspace easily.

 

**0XX0**

 

Dura didn’t know much about Lothal, other than what Hera had told her as they landed outside Capital City. A planet falling into disarray from the Empire’s meddling and lies of a greener tomorrow, if only they accept their government.

 

The city had the Empire’s bloodied fingerprints all over it, though only Hera really paid attention to it. Dura was leading her through the streets, following the path the Force was leading her down. It was a risk on her part to so easily go back to it, but her heart refused to let the Empire dig its claws into the innocent boy all on his own. For his protection, she would find him first (to even out the score? To throw off the immense guilt she had been drowning in since life left Caleb’s eyes?).

 

Hera followed Dura down to an abandoned street, covered in dust, grime and blaster soot. A house at the end of the street - boarded up recently - had seen the worst of it. Dura headed toward it, finally drifting out of her trance and taking in her surroundings.

 

“I’ll go in,” She said. “Guard out here and look out for Imps.”

 

Hera nodded, adjusting her goggles and pulling her small blaster out of its hidden holster. Dura looked over the boarded up door to the home, nudging the wood gently until one came away with little persuasion. She could barely fit into the gap but slipped into the darkness of what had once been a cosy family home.

 

Unable to adjust her sight to the shadows, Dura pulled out her lightsaber (it was safe; she could hide it if she heard trouble) and ignited it. Green light flooded the main room and she saw the full extent of the mess. Furniture smashed and turned over, precious belongings scattered everywhere… A brawl had taken place here.

 

“Hello?” She called out, walking further into the home like it was sacred ground. She cleared her throat and tried again, listening for any signal of the boy.

 

“I heard your transmission. You called for help.” She lifted her lightsaber toward the kitchen, but it was worse than a trash compactor in there.

 

Then she heard it. A movement in the Force, a shuffling of bare feet underneath her own. There was a hidden level beneath her. A perfect hiding spot from anyone looking to shoot down a scared boy.

 

“I won’t hurt you, I promise.” A few seconds later, a rug in the middle of the room shifted and lifted up under the power of a heavy hatch door. Dura crept closer, holding her lightsaber up to illuminate the underground vault.

 

A boy stood on the ladder heading down, shielding his eyes from the light. Dura moved it away, and he looked up at her with wide, wet blue eyes. They stared at each other in silence, and Dura knew, from the years of Jedi training and bonding with padawans: This boy was Force Sensitive.

 

He wiped at his eyes, never steering away from her, and sniffed. Neither moved.

 

“Are you alright?” Dura asked, her voice hushed and gentle. He looked like a youngling straight out from the Creche, jumping at every loud noise and looking for a Master’s shelter wherever they went. The boy nodded curtly, still studying her.

 

“You’re safe now, sweetling.” She said, smiling and kneeling down by the hatch. The lightsaber was put aside and she showed her hands to him. “I’ve come to take you away from the Empire.”

 

He shifted on his feet before moving up the ladder and into her arms. She pulled him out of the hole and settled him between the messes, getting a good look. He was dirty all over, barefoot, and his clothes had a few ripped holes in them. He looked dangerously thin too, prompting her to pull a ration bar from her jacket and give it to him.

 

He snatched it and tore the wrapping off, biting down into the dull tasting block of nutrition and protein. He inhaled it in a blur and wiped his mouth clean, wiping off a layer of dust off his cheeks too. Dura picked out bits of dirt and broken stone out of his dark hair, grimacing at the tangled knots she tugged at.

 

The Force had led her to him, and for good reason. If the Empire caught wind of this boy’s power, who knows what they would do to him? They could torture him, kill him, or turn him into the padawans she saw in her visions. She couldn’t let this boy come to harm, ever.

 

“Who are you?” The boy asked innocently.

 

“De--Dura. I’m Dura.” She answered, picking up her lightsaber again and holding it aloft. “I listened to your parents’ broadcasts. I owe them my thanks.”

 

“Do you know where they are?” He asked, eyes wider and full of hope. Dura’s breath caught in her throat, almost choking her. A young boy, no more than six or seven, who just wanted his parents back.

 

“I don’t know, I’m sorry.” It was better to be honest than crush his hopes, she reasoned. His face fell and tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to fall. “I can help you find out what happened to them, dear, but we have to get you away first.”

 

She held out her hand to him, reaching out in the Force to comfort him. If it couldn’t help her, it could at least do something for him. He stared at it, the energy around him swirling like a growing tempest of Light and Dark. He could be powerful, if trained, but her days as a Master were over.

 

His small hand grasped her fingers tightly and she held onto him as she stood up, keeping her lightsaber far away from his curious touch. In the Force, she felt his growing trust in her, and for the first time in years she didn’t feel inclined to push it away. She held onto it, reaching out to him in hopes of comforting him from the world’s harshness, and called out to Hera for a mission accomplished.

 

**0XX0**

 

When they got back to the ship some time later (after running circles around stormtroopers in an effort to stay incognito), Hera took the boy into the washroom and left Dura to take them up into orbit. She went through her plan - make a pit-stop at Ryloth, say her goodbyes, then make her way to Takodana - and set the ship’s coordinates for autopilot.

 

Dura got up and headed towards the back, listening in on the muffled chatter coming from the shower stall. There was a giggle here and there, so nothing was going south. She was thankful for that, at least.

 

She waited for them to come out, sorting through a pile of clothes Hera had left lying around the ship. Most of them wouldn’t fit a boy so small, but they could work something out until she could get actual child-sized clothes and shoes. She set a tunic shirt, a belt and a pair of shorts aside, assured in her lack of fashion sense.

 

She slipped the outfit into the wash room and let Hera carry on. She had a natural knack for mothering children, being one of the oldest teenagers in her entire clan, and had taken to the Bridger boy the moment she set eyes on him. Dura felt a sense of deja vu, but she couldn’t recall where from. She didn’t have time to ponder on that thought as the two youngsters came barreling out into the cockpit.

 

“Careful, Ezra, you haven’t got shoes on!” Hera said as the boy, Ezra, bounded up to the front seats and looked out at the passing stars. His mouth fell open and his eyes practically sparkled.

 

“We’re in space!”

 

Dura glanced to Hera, raising an eyebrow; _you got his name?_ She nodded and lifted Ezra into the co-pilot’s seat before sitting down herself. He kept staring out, leaning up to peer over the controls and dashboard.

 

Dura sat down behind them, looking over Ezra quickly. Hera had done a thorough job cleaning him up and washing his hair, leaving him spotless, if a little silly in his over-sized clothes. It didn’t matter, really; they were temporary.

 

Hera kept Ezra occupied as they went in and out of hyperspace to Ryloth, while Dura prepared herself for what was to come. She knew Cham would attempt to make her stay (she was a valuable fighter, he had told her; they couldn’t lose her easily. Dura told him that his movement wasn’t a very strong one if her absence would affect them so heavily), and others would take his side. They had grown attached to her, and she would be lying if she said she hadn’t done the same.

 

But this was for the best. She was in charge of another life again, and Ryloth wasn’t where he would be safe. Takodana would find them a few well-paying jobs and ships to live on from time to time. It wasn’t the most comfortable life, especially for a distraught child, but it was the safest for a Force Sensitive one.

 

Hera landed the ship in the Lessu city’s ports and Dura ran out, promising to return in a few parsecs, leaving the pilot to babysit (not that she minded). Dura made fast work of going to her home and stuffing her very few possessions into a duffel bag (she had never made a habit of decorating or collecting things; it would just slow her down if she ever had to leave in a hurry, like now) and called Cham on her hologram projector.

 

“Dura, you’ve come back.” Was the first thing he said upon answering her call. She stood in front of his small projection, crossing her arms.

 

“I’m leaving.”

 

“...Is that so?”

 

“Yes.” He was already trying to drag this out, she could feel it. She hung her bag over her shoulder, making a show of it. “I’m truly grateful for everything you’ve done for me, but you knew my stay here was never meant to carry out this long. It’s best that I go before I’m found out by the Empire.”

 

“I suppose so.” He said, glancing over to a datapad of reports. “You are aware of what you are doing--”

 

“Cham, I know you want me fighting for this planet but I can’t afford the risks of staying.” She snapped, growing more tired than she should have. “The Empire has Jedi hunters spread out across the galaxy, and it’s only by a small miracle I haven’t ended up dead by their hands yet.”

 

“If that’s how you feel, I can’t stop you.” Cham narrowed his eyes at her, obviously displeased at her tone. She knew it was the wrong approach to take with the general, but she had to make herself clear. And this way, maybe the Empire wouldn’t believe there was a deep enough connection between them to warrant torturing him for information about her and a boy he didn’t know about.

 

“If something comes up, I’ll call you.” She offered. He only nodded, muttering quietly in Ryl.

 

“Free Ryloth.” She said in his native tongue before cutting off the link and stashing the projector into her bag. A huge weight rolled off her shoulders and she breathed freely once more, even if her heart did feel heavy. It was for the best, she reminded herself over and over.

 

She only hoped that it worked.

 

**0XX0**

 

Hera, the blessed sweetheart that she was, took Dura and Ezra out to Takodana (though not without trying to recruit them onto her crew for several hours; Dura was honoured but she couldn’t put Hera at risk like that) and spared them a few credits. Taking care of a child was more expensive than Dura remembered it being.

 

Ezra, dressed up in much cleaner clothes and shoes without holes in them, stayed close to her as she went towards the only familiar place on this planet: Kanata’s castle. She had only explained the barest details of her plan to him, which was find a ship to work on and get as far away from the Empire as they could. He had asked about finding his parents’ friends who he hadn’t seen in weeks (Tseebo wa a name that popped up frequently) and finding out answers, to which she had assured him that they needed to be safe before searching.

 

It wasn’t a lie; she had every intention of finding the Bridgers and reuniting them with their son. It just wasn’t her first priority: Ezra’s safety was, and she let him know how important that was to her.

 

She led him into the fortress, grip tightening on his hand as well as on her blades. This place was still the grimey, scummy pit she had visited seven years ago (and she was sure she even recognised a few faces). She made her way towards the bar, reluctantly reaching out in the Force to the one person who could answer her multiplying questions.

 

Maz was tending the bar, paying them no attention until Dura came up behind her and cleared her throat. The older woman didn’t jump, only turned around on her stool and zoom in her gaze with her goggles.

 

“Ah, you’ve come back. I had a feeling you would.” Maz said, smiling despite Dura’s grim look. She slipped off her barstool and walked them over to a table in the back of the room. “You must have a very important reason for returning.”

 

“I didn’t have much of a choice.” Dura put an arm around Ezra’s shoulders, guiding him over to where Maz was climbing up to sit. Confusion clouded him and she ruffled his hair, sending as much reassurance to him as she could. Maz noticed.

 

“Of course. You can’t show off your new padawan to just anybody.” Dura glanced around the room quickly and then glared at Maz. She wasn’t impressed by the daggers in her eyes.

 

“My days as a Master are _over_ , Maz.”

 

“Maybe, but what else are you going to do with the boy?” Maz sat back in her seat, judging. “Find a family in Wild Space to give him to?”

 

“Of course not!” Dura winced at her volume and shrunk back, looking over Ezra sitting between them and fiddling with a leather coaster, trying to act like he wasn’t listening in. “His parents were taken by the Empire for broadcasting rebellious activity, and I’m looking for them.”

 

“The Bridger Transmissions? I can’t help you there.”

 

“That’s not why I wanted to talk to you.” Dura breathed, reigning herself in. Maz motioned for her to continue and gave Ezra an old gambling dice. “You told me that I still had a place, despite what was meant to be. I… I think I found it.”

 

“And will you make it yours?” Maz asked. Dura nodded slowly; she still had doubts (so many doubts and fears holding her back) but she was certain of this. “Then why not teach him? He’ll need to know in the future.”

 

“I know, but I cannot fail another. All I know is what caused our downfall, and look where it’s gotten us.” This was precisely why Caleb was meant to live; a padawan with hardly any training, surviving the Jedi and turning it into something far purer than Yoda or Mace could have achieved. Only someone like him could teach a new generation. Only him…

 

Caleb should have been Ezra’s Master.

 

“Things have changed, and so have you, child. Can you really see yourself as the same Jedi who sat on the Council?” Ezra’s eyes widened and he sat up, looking between the women. Dura didn’t answer, just lowered her gaze and sighed through her nose.

 

She was a different person, just as she had planned to be. She had buried Depa deep within herself; never letting go, because she was an old fool stuck in her ways. Maz believed that she could still pass something onto Ezra, but she couldn’t accept it.

 

“Think about it, child. I have nothing else to offer.” Maz swiped a meiloorun fruit off a passing tray and gave it to Ezra. He turned it over in his hands, paying no heed to Maz leaving or Dura sinking lower in her chair.

 

She had gotten her answers, but she still felt unsatisfied. Not to mention that Maz had spilled the bucket on her past right in front of Ezra, which was not a talk she was prepared to give any time soon. She’d have to if she wanted him to have faith in her, as well as keep the information quiet.

 

She glanced out the window, admiring the open glistening lake and green forest growing beyond it. Being on Ryloth for so long, seeing such life gave her a whole new appreciation for it. The quiet environment was such a contrast to the hustle and bustle of the caves and catacombs twisting underneath Lessu.

 

“Ezra, let’s go for a walk.” Dura stood up and held her hand out to Ezra, who had bitten into the fruit and gotten juices all over himself. He wiped his hand down his front and took her hand. She rolled her eyes; just as she had gotten him clean.

 

The rocky lakeside was vacant of any spying eyes or ears, allowing Dura to focus on the soft waves lapping at their feet and the breeze brushing her face, gentle as a mother’s touch. She led Ezra closer to the edge of the forest where a large, flat boulder faced the water.

 

“Ezra, do you know who the Jedi were?” She asked, lifting him up to sit on the boulder and then bending down to reach his eye level.

 

He swallowed the last bits of the meiloorun fruit and made himself comfortable. “Yeah! Mom an’ Dad said that they protected people from bad guys, not like the Emperor says.”

 

“We did try.” Dura smiled sadly. “I was one, but not anymore because the Emperor wants me dead.”

 

“Like my parents?”

 

Dura snapped back to Ezra, who had his head bowed and hands curled in his lap, shoulders shaking slightly. She put a hand on his back, rubbing his slowly and feeling the dry sobs racking his body. She cursed herself and moved around to face him properly. He had been oddly quiet since Hera had left, but she took that as him being nervous about the pirates and smugglers everywhere.

 

She never imagined how much he missed his family (she and her sister never knew theirs; Dura was never given a chance to miss Sar when she died). She only missed Caleb and Mace these days, but that wasn’t the same.

 

“Ezra, it’s alright…”

 

He shook his head and sniffed, wiping his face aggressively. “I-It’s not! M-My parents are g-g-gone! Ts-Tseebo left me!”

 

His voice cracked into a whine and he hiccuped as Dura knelt in front of him, rubbing his shoulders and surrounding him in the Force. She pursed her lips, running through every idea she had of what to say to him.

 

“ _Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force_.” She recited in a steady voice, continuing as Ezra’s hiccups subsided, leaving only a runny nose and watery eyes.

 

She waited a moment to let him take it in, still rubbing his shoulders. He eventually looked back up at her, questions evident in his expression.

 

“That’s the old Jedi Code; the way we were instructed to live. It is alright to be upset, to not know something, to be attached; there will always be chaos in life, as well as Death, but there is harmony and there is the Force.”

 

Ezra blinked some tears away as he listened. “So, t-they’re really gone?”

 

“That is something we don’t know,” Dura answered, taking his small hands in her’s and stroking her thumbs over his knuckles. “But that is not forever; we will seek the answers. You are upset too, and that doesn’t last forever either…”

 

Dura’s mind brought her back to Kenobi’s warning message sent out all those years ago. She hadn’t taken the words to heart back then, but now she could put them to use.

 

“Someone wise once said that we will each be challenged, but we must persevere and have hope. We _will_ find out what happened to your parents, Ezra, and no matter what happens, I’ll be with you the whole way.”

 

He was her responsibility now and she wouldn’t fail him, like she had to many others before. She still had a way to go before she could fully trust in the Force again, but she wouldn’t stifle Ezra’s connection to it. She would teach him as much as she could, as far from the fallen traditions as possible, like Caleb should have. Until Kenobi’s new hope came to save them, she would do what she must to keep Ezra alive.

 

Ezra sniffed and nodded, curling his hands beneath her’s. “I still miss them…”

 

“I know. The Empire took away people I loved too.” She moved closer as Ezra rested his head on her shoulder, too tired to vent out his frustrations anymore. She lifted him up onto her hip (he was too big to carry effectively, but it was too soon to take him back to the castle) and continued down the lakeside, then into the thick forest itself.

 

She talked to him, about the living Force, the Code, lightsaber combat; anything she could think of that wouldn’t rile up her memories of her padawan. She had a partner in grieving, and she couldn’t help him heal if her wounds were still fresh. They would persevere together.

 

**0XX0**

 

Dura and Ezra ended up resting near a stream in the woods by the time the sun was setting. She had gone through every story and youngling teaching she could remember while he listened intently. Now they were sitting on the grass in silence, watching the tiny signs of life all around them.

 

Ezra sighed heavily and Dura looked over at him. “What’s wrong, Ezra?”

 

“I’m still upset.” He answered, stretching his legs out and glaring at the flowing stream.

 

“How so?” She leaned back on her hands, still watching him. He kicked his feet up and pouted; the Force was almost growling around him.

 

“Like… Like I wanna scream and hit a stormtrooper. Hit ‘em hard.”

 

He pounded the ground next to him a few times and grumbled when the grass blades didn’t break. Dura put a hand on his shoulder.

 

“We don’t want to hurt anybody, Ezra.”

 

He looked at her from the edge of his eye. “Not even troopers?”

 

“They hurt themselves so much they do our job for us.” She smiled but he didn’t return it. She squeezed his shoulder and bumped him to sit up straight. “We shouldn’t seek to hurt others, or we’ll allow our emotions to rule us. They shouldn’t be bottled up either, but we must rule over them to truly know peace.”

 

“Emotion, yet peace.” Ezra muttered under his breath, loud enough for her to hear. He was a quick learner. “How do you rule ‘em when they’re so… strong?”

 

“Good question. I’ll be honest with you,” Dura stood up and stretched out her arms over her head, cracking a few joints. “I struggled with my emotions when the Empire took my loved ones. I still am, in a few ways.”

 

Ezra followed her motion but got a sore shoulder instead. He watched her move around the small clearing and take out her lightsabers, including the weird separated one, sitting them upright in opposite corners, and then igniting them. The trees lit up blue and green, blending into a sharp teal that made him smile.

 

“You said you wanted to hit a ‘trooper,” He nodded. “so hit the tree instead.”

 

Ezra glanced over at the large trunk towering behind him, peering up at the tallest branches miles high above his head. He looked back to Dura, who was lifting a large stick from the bushes and swinging it around.

 

“But… won’t it hurt?”

 

“You or the tree?” She looked over her shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow. He rolled his shoulders and thinned his lips.

 

“Both?”

 

“That’s to be expected. The tree is a living being, flowing with the Force.” She went over to him and put her hand on his shoulder again. “But it’s been here for thousands and thousands of years. It’s survived much worse than you, Ezra, and it’ll continue to because life always moves on.”

 

“What about me?” He asked, looking over his chubby fingers with worry.

 

“I might have something for that.” She reached into her jacket with her free hand, pulling out ripped strips of fabric she had salvaged from an old headscarf. Ezra held out his hands and she wrapped a long strip over each palm, tying them up tightly so they wouldn’t slip.

 

She stepped back from him and he punched the air a few times before going anywhere near the tree. He tapped it with his knuckles and again, a bit harder.

 

Dura moved away again and swung her stick in the air like a fiery baton, closing her eyes and breathing through the Force. She dug deep into herself, dragging out the blood and tears she gave to seal up her boiling anger years ago. It felt almost numb, like there was nothing else to give, but she knew better. That anger tore away at her insides and made her a hypocrite to Ezra, who deserved so much better than her.

 

She remembered every battle, every cut and every roar her fury had taken control of. The slavers, the Empire, the ignorant, the sorrow… Every memory of them spurned her and she felt the wrath surface, stronger than ever.

 

In one swift motion, Dura slammed the stick against a tree, sending splinters in all directions but not breaking it. She did it again, again and again, until she threw it onto a large rock and broke it into hundreds of pieces. She heaved her shoulders with each breath and dropped the splintered branch, fingers blistered and cut from the tight grip.

 

Ezra had moved from punching the tree, kicking the bushes, to throwing small rocks with all his strength at the water. Several of them broke in half upon contact and he kept going until he ran out of things he could lift. He kicked the water, splashing himself, and yelled out. He then collapsed back onto the grass, suddenly feeling numb in his arms and legs.

 

“How do you feel now?” Dura asked, lying down beside him and tidying her hair.

 

“A lil’ better.” Ezra answered, closing his eyes and smiling for the first time in days. Dura copied him, and stared up at the tree canopies. The sky had turned dark during their lashings, and the moonless night gave way to brighter stars peeking through each gap.

 

“It’s progress.”

 

**0XX0**

 

The emergency call came two days later while Dura was hunting around Maz’s castle for a reliable job (no one wanted to take a seven year old onboard, kriffing pirates) and Ezra was occupying himself at the games tables by charming everyone there. Double checking that he was safe, Dura took the call to a private corner of the castle.

 

Cham Syndulla’s image appeared in the hologram, worse for wear and completely disheveled.

 

“Cham--?”

 

“Dura, I don’t have much time. You are in critical danger.”

 

“What? Cham, what happened? How did you reach me?” She hadn’t given him a direct line to her, in case an Imperial tried to track her through him. Only Hera had any link to them…

 

Cham ran a hand over his head and lekku, taking a deep breath to collect himself. He explained, yes; Hera gave him the link. He wouldn’t have gone to such lengths if this wasn’t such an emergency. He then went on to describe the previous day; how the Emperor had indeed come to Ryloth in secret (not even his informant could warn them in time) with a Jedi hunter.

 

Darth Vader.

 

And he was searching for Depa Billaba.

 

Dura had never heard of a Darth by the name of Vader before, but she could only speculate that he had risen up during the initial Purges, working for the Emperor to rid the galaxy of any Jedi remnants. How they had discovered that she was alive and had been on Ryloth was unknown to her. She hadn’t given any obvious signs, and very few of the Twi’Leks under Cham’s command knew about her past.

 

Had the Force given Vader a map to her?

 

She couldn’t bear to think of what would become of her if that was the case.

 

Now time was of the essence. Dura ended the call, grabbed her travel bags and pulled Ezra away from the gathering crowd, much to his dismay. She quickly explained the situation to him and he thankfully hopped right onto the plan.

 

Only one ship was leaving Takodana, and the captain would only allow Dura and her ‘grandson’ on board if she was willing to help with a spice drop-off on Phorsa Gedd. It was an Imperial controlled planet, run by business lords who rules the desert factories; a place she didn’t want to get caught in. She agreed to it (she was desperate, and hopefully the Empire wouldn’t expect her to head inwards to the Mid Rim, least of all one of their controlled planets).

 

She and Ezra were given a spare cot and a warm meal each for their stay, but no privacy, which left little for them to discuss Force training or combat survival (except when Dura walked in on the captain teaching Ezra how to hold and fire a blaster; she hadn’t been happy, the pilot hadn’t been happy. It was a giant mess).

 

Dura wasn’t sure how much time passed as she and Ezra hopped from ship to ship, planet to planet. Paranoia and dread crept up on her regularly, and every pit stop became a new source of anxiety for her. She gave Ezra as much training as she could in the small moments they were alone, though he seemed to be picking up more blaster skills with every ship crew he met. He assured her that it gave him an extra edge (not like he was going to get his own lightsaber any time soon) and that gave her a bit of peace.

 

She called Hera up whenever possible as well, to either get some information about the Empire’s galactic movements (and how to avoid them), or to distract herself when the worries got too much. The young Twi’lek, no matter what, always spared a moment even at the worst moments (talking with Ezra made them worth it).

 

Hera, one night, made a stray comment about her recent rebel activity. Dura knew she had gotten in contact with a ‘Fulcrum’ informant, and now she knew that said informant was sending her to Gorse and its mining moon Cynda to uncover the intentions of an Imperial inspection coming up. Dura didn’t like the idea of Hera taking on such a big mission on her own, to which she was subjected to another employment offer.

 

“I know you mean well, dear, but going right into the belly of the Imperial beast is the worst thing I can do for Ezra.” She told Hera, who agreed but remained down-spirited at another rejection. Dura knew Hera wanted the best for them (as well as a well-trained fighter backing her up against the Empire) but she had the foresight to know they had to go separate ways.

 

Hera could take care of herself perfectly fine. Dura knew she didn’t have to worry over her.

 

**0XX0**

 

Dura woke up to Ezra falling out of his cot and yelping loudly. She got up, rubbing her tired eyes and shooed away the curious crew members to help Ezra up onto his feet. He was gripping his hair and shaking violently, whining and mumbling incoherently.

 

Dura held him up, taking him away from the sleeping quarters and out into the ship’s empty corridors where no one could hear them. Slumber still held onto her, and she yawned it out, rubbing down Ezra’s back as his shaking calmed.

 

“I-I felt it…” He said quietly, leaning into her touch. “S-She was th-there one parsec, a-and t-then not!”

 

“Who, Ezra?” She asked, brushing his hair out of his eyes (he’d need it cut or tied up soon enough). He took a few deep breaths and held onto her hand, trying not to let tears fall from his eyes.

 

“H-Hera.”

 

Dura felt her heart stop and shatter, a million thoughts rushing through her head. Her hand covered her mouth, denying every possibility of Hera’s fate. She felt for her in the Force, reaching out as far as she could but getting nothing.

 

“G-Go to the cockpit, Ezra. We’ll contact her.” She ordered, pulling him off her arm. He was about to protest but she nudged him in the right direction and went off back to the cots herself.

 

She paid no mind to the other sleeping crew members, rummaging through her bag and pulling out her comm link to Hera’s ship, The Ghost. The crew complained at the disturbance, so she switched the comm on and rushed out to the cockpit.

 

She sent a few voice messages through the link, getting no response each time. Her heart went up into her throat, all kinds of fear taking hold of her so tight she thought she would suffocate before reaching Ezra.

 

The eight year old was standing in front of the dashboard, looking worse for wear than she felt, and panicking in the midst of it all. Dura took over, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and never letting go. The ship’s communicator came to life, making noise that was bound to bring everybody to them to complain, and Dura put in Hera’s details, then sent the call.

 

An error message came up after the first beep: _Connection disabled. No response from recipient._

 

They only found out a week later (after many nightmares and attempts to get answers from Cham) that Hera had been killed on her Gorse mission and The Ghost taken by the Empire for scrap.

 

They left the ship and crew half way through the job, much to the captain’s chagrin, and found a place to stay in a small town on Hermos. It wasn’t anything fancy - just a kitchen and set of beds that would hold them up until they were ready to face the world again.

 

Ezra withdrew into himself, only talking when spoken to and even then it was short sentences. He slept through good days; ranted and glared through the bad. Dura had already spilled her tears and cursed Fulcrum’s name, pouring her attention solely on Ezra. He had been the one to feel her passing (she had no shortage of guilt for not having felt the disturbance in the Force) and it was haunting him. She knew the feeling all too well, but for someone so young… He didn’t deserve it.

 

She guessed it had been almost two weeks before Ezra stopped the glaring and venting, opting to stare at the ceiling from his bed and refuse his nutrition block meals. Dura eventually made a spot next to him, resting her head against the concrete wall.

 

“Ezra?” He blinked. “We’ll get our own ship. No more job hopping or hiding anymore.”

 

He grunted and nodded, pulling his knees up to rest his chin on them. She deflated and put her arm around his slim childish shoulders, inching closer to him.

 

“Do you remember what I told you on Takodana?” She asked, pulling her legs up and curling them underneath her.

 

“I’m dealing with it.” Was all he said, curling up more. She massaged across his back, resisting the urge to roll her head.

 

“I know,” She lied, playing into his game. She was too tired to argue with the boy over something so trivial. “But I told you about holding your emotions in. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

 

“Too late.” Ezra grumbled, voice breaking into a high pitch. He cleared his throat and bit his lip, burying his head into his lap.

 

“We can talk--”  
  
“What’s there to talk about?” He said angrily, lifting his head to glare at her. “Hera’s gone for good! Just like everyone else I ever cared about! I-I had a real connection with her, y’know? Now it’s gone a-and it feels horrible…”

 

His head dropped and he gritted his teeth. Dura watched him, reaching out in the Force. Despite his shell, he responded in kind and she soothed his worries. _I’m right here, I understand, I miss her too._

 

“It’s a cold feeling isn’t it?” She asked. “You reach out for what isn’t there and the Force gives you nothing but barren ice. What you used to rely on and take comfort in is suddenly not there, and you’re at a loss on how to deal with it. The loneliness is the worst.”

 

He looked at her again, eyebrows raised but understanding. She ran her hand over his head, smiling softly.

 

“Before the Empire took over, I was a Jedi Master with a young padawan. He was so much like you and Hera. His name was Caleb Dume…”

 

**0XX0**

 

Getting a ship was not the easiest of tasks, especially between running from stormtroopers and asking around for information on Imperial prisons. Dura knew that Hera’s contacts were a better source of such information, but she didn’t trust herself not to seek out Fulcrum (she could only imagine how Cham was right now). Ezra would also never agree to taking anything from them; she doubted she would be able to stop him from taking revenge; a step closer to the Dark Side.

 

She also knew that the Empire were the only ones at fault for Hera’s untimely death, but shifting the blame wasn’t as easy said than done. She told Ezra of her guilt over Caleb’s death, hoping he would understand that Fulcrum probably felt the same way (at least she hoped they did; how good can a heartless rebel be against the Emperor?). Still, they couldn't ignore how big a part the informant played, so Dura stayed away, letting Ezra go at his own pace. There was no point in rushing the process for the sake of peace.

 

To help him in any way she could, Dura gave Ezra a few jobs to be responsible for. Nothing too difficult for a child his age, but challenging enough that completing them would give him a strong sense of self-worth and direction; he needed to know he was important, and only he could persuade himself to feel that.

 

Among those jobs were to spy on pirates (he was good as playing the innocent child look); staying on guard for stormtroopers or others with a ‘dangerous’ aura, and to find a ship for them to buy. She gave him a list of requirements for the perfect ship: it had to be small (not too small, just cosy), have hyperspace travelling capabilities, good shielding, strong weapons, a living space for them (or room for such modifications at a low price), and most importantly, be affordable.

 

Ezra took the work eagerly, setting up his own weekly schedule in order to balance Force training and ship browsing, impressing Dura with how seriously he took it. Not even a decade old and already organising himself like an adult. She wouldn’t let him grow up _too_ fast though; childhood only came once in a lifetime.

 

His rising maturity came handy time and time again, as stormtroopers seemed to follow them everywhere, no matter how far they fled or how random their locations were. The Empire had set up wanted posters and warrants for her alias (but none for Ezra, thank Force), which led to Dura to suspect every pirate and smuggler they had ever encountered. Had one of Maz’s customers from all those years ago recognised her as Depa Billaba? It couldn’t have been any of Cham’s officers; only his most trusted people knew about her past. They wouldn’t turn their backs on him so easily.

 

In the times they faced troopers and their blasters, Ezra grounded Dura from the flashbacks and horror, holding onto her in the Force (and sometimes physically as well) and they escaped - sometimes with barely their lives. When the presence of Darth Vader or another like him (the Pau'an always lurked in her visions) came close enough for Ezra to sense, they ran across systems with no trail. Yet it kept happening.

 

Whenever they could, Dura and Ezra practiced lightsaber combat and defense. She taught him the basics of the six forms (Vapaad would come _much_ later), then focused on Forms III and II, regaling him with tales of the Jedi heroes from the Order’s beginnings right down to the Clone Wars.

 

The topic of a blaster came up after Dura made Ezra get rid of one he had swiped from a fallen trooper during a skirmish on Garel. She had to admit that he was better with a blaster than a vibro or electric sword, but she was still reluctant. He was far too young, they were so dangerous, she couldn’t teach him. There were many reasons.

 

She only gave in when one was offered to him by a cargo ship’s mechanic after a job well done. She had searched the crew through the Force before taking on the work, and there was no malicious intent in any of them that she could detect. She doubted any of them even recognised her from the posters (this job had actually been a peaceful one, as they had jumped around Imperial blockades and not gotten any trouble beyond a spilled bowl of soup in the cockpit).

 

With Ezra now in possession of a weapon that he could actually make use of, Dura began thinking of his Gathering trial (and remembering her own that hadn’t prepared her for anything but disappointment). Kyber crystals were only available on Ilum, way out in the Unknown Regions with a permanent Imperial blockade denying access to the ice planet. The Temple was probably destroyed in the wake of the Purge, which would make digging for crystals difficult, and possibly meaningless. So, for the time being, she entrusted Caleb’s lightsaber to Ezra; he would treasure it as she did.

 

When he had grown tall enough to reach Dura’s shoulder and tie his long hair up by himself, the ship they had been searching for appeared in a shipyard on the south side of Tatooine’s equator (she felt nothing but unease on this desert, but the Empire’s influence was minimal and no reports of Dura had been issued here, so she put up with it). An elderly couple who had once soared the stars of the Mid Rim were selling their modified cargolift shuttle for just shy of 50,000 credits. It was a steep price, but they weren’t going to get anything better for that price.

 

The Conductor-class short-haul landing craft, designated CX-14, was old, banged up, and in need of a new paint job, but wholly perfect. They finally had their own space, and Ezra rightfully called it _Hera’s Force_. It wasn’t the most creative name a twelve year old could come up with but Dura teared up all the same when he told her.

 

In this ship, they could do whatever they pleased. The notion took some weeks to get used to, but soon enough they were meditating in the cockpit, sparring on the plains of Dantooine, and creating more distance than ever between them and the Empire’s killers. Even better, they could now do their own search for the Bridgers.

 

Not that they hadn’t been looking for clues, but with the need for credits and the Empire crawling up their backs, it had taken a backseat for many years. Dura felt terrible for not acting sooner, but Ezra was surprisingly forgiving about it.

 

“I have hope that we can rescue them,” He told her while watching a sunrise in orbit. “but even if it turns out they died… I just need closure. I’ll be okay.”

 

Closure.

 

That was the word. She had never gotten such a luxury, but maybe it wasn’t too late for her. She thanked Ezra and told him that he had grown wise beyond his years (he then called her a liar). Ezra would become more powerful than her in the Force one day, as long as she kept him in the Light. The Dark always edged around him, muddying his light into a grey that reminded her somewhat of Maz. Being young still, she worried that he could be swallowed whole too easily should be open himself up, like the padawans the Pau’an led on a death march.

 

She could only hope that she was up to the task.

 

**0XX0**

 

Dura didn’t know quite what to expect when Ezra dragged her into a high street bar one night in the middle of a supply run. He only told her that something important was there, so she obliged. She could trust him to follow his instincts as the Force instructed.

 

They sat near the bar, hoods pulled up to conceal any details from curious onlookers. There were a couple of Imperial officers sat on the stools, drowning themselves in whatever was popular for the young men and women at the time. Ezra never took his eyes off them, even as their speech spiralled into slurs and babblings.

 

Dura got a drink for herself, to keep up appearances (she was never a fan of the stuff; too many headaches) and left Ezra to spy on his own. He had been doing it for years, playing the part of the dutiful grandson taking care of his boozing guardian; he didn’t need her supervision.

 

About an hour into it, he nudged her sharply and she sat up, paying attention to the officers.

 

“I-It’s absolute bantha fodder!” A human male exclaimed, slamming his glass onto the bar surface. “Moving ev-everybody ‘round ‘cause of those kriffin’ rebels! I can’t go to Garel; I got a life h-here!”

 

“Shaddup, blaster brains.” His female companion swatted his head, shooting back after glass. “Shootin’ a rebel is an honour to the galaxy. They’re getting so pesky, Tarkin’s pulling ships from the Unknown Regions to build blockades.”

 

 _Ilum_.

 

Dura and Ezra looked to each other, sure that they had heard the same thing. Only Ilum had Imperial guards that far out, and if they were taking ships out, then they had a real shot at getting to the Temple. Ezra gripped Dura’s arm and she nodded without a word.

 

As they got up to leave (playing the drunk grandmother angle to an almost ridiculous degree), the officers kept talking and one thing struck out to Dura.

 

“A-And that Pau’an Inquis--quisitor guy! What the kriff is his deal sn-sneaking ‘round _our_ stations?”

 

She froze and listened in, feeling her heartbeat more than ever. Ezra pulled at her, trying to get her attention.

 

“He’s hunting down fugitives, you idiot. There’s a huge price on that Joti’s head.”

 

Dura grabbed Ezra’s shoulders and ran out of the bar, holding down her urge to yell and swing out her lightsaber in frustration. An Inquisitor! The Emperor had resurrected the beings of legends and horror just to hunt down the last of the Jedi, plaguing her living days with an unending fear of what tomorrow would bring. They were no Sith Lords, but they were dark enough to bring an entire Order to near-extinction, and now one was closing in on her far too quickly.

 

She and Ezra got back to their ship and wasted no time jumping into hyperspace, heading to the very edge of chartered space. Ezra attached himself to the controls, giving Dura a chance to meditate in the space behind him.

 

In her trance, she cleared her mind of all thought, giving the Force free reign to give its guidance. It trickled in, flowing as the river of life and inviting her to travel down one of many branches. She stepped away from physical reality, diving into the Force at full force.

 

She was on an Imperial base, deep within the bowels and long corridors that led to unknown terrors. She walked down one, following the yells and grunts of a battle. A corner turned and then she was in a large open room with only a walkway to get across, and on it two figures were clashing blades - blue and red.

 

The dark lord pressing down on his victim was a face Dura had seen too many times: the Pau’an. He smiled with a sadistic glee, speaking in a booming voice as he overpowered the man facing away from Dura. She cried out to him, but the words didn’t reach him.

 

A voice came from behind her and she spun around, dodging a red lightsaber blade just in time. The Pau’an was towering over her, grinning at her the same as he had to the other. She reached for her lightsaber but it wasn’t there. The Pau’an’s spinning lightsaber went for her again and she jumped out of the way, onto a floor of ice.

 

The Ilum Temple was crumbled all around her and she scrambled back as the dark being snaked toward her with his double-sided blade threatening to slice off her limbs.

 

“There is nowhere to run anymore, Jedi.” He said, words cutting deeper than any sword. “You and your padawan will fall.”

 

“ _NO_!”

 

“Dura! Get up!” She snapped her eyes open and her surroundings flooded back to her. She was lying on the cockpit floor, swords and lightsaber thrown in all directions away from her, while Ezra kneeled next to her and helped sit her up.

 

“How far…?” She asked, gasping for breath and pulling her blades back to their sheath. Ezra let go of her, looking back at the dashboard.

 

“Still a couple hours, if the coordinates are correct.”

 

“My memory isn’t that bad, you smart aleck.” Dura shook her head, grabbing the co-pilot’s seat to pull herself up onto her feet. “Your journey to your lightsaber isn’t going to be an easy one.”

 

“Since when is anything we do easy?”

 

“It’s different this time.” Dura sat down in a seat, resting her head back. “The Empire is waiting for us on Ilum.”

 

“What?!” Ezra exclaimed, standing up to attention. “We have to turn back before they get us!”

 

“No, we keep going.” She swung her seat around to face him, the seriousness of the situation engraved in her aged features. “An Inquisitor is waiting to face me at the Temple, and I will take him down, once and for all.”

 

“Are you sure?” Ezra asked quietly, sitting down in the opposite seat and leaning forward on his padded knees. “He could kill you.”

 

She shook her head again. “I didn’t live this long just so a wannabe Sith Lord could cut me down. He’s been following us long enough, and unless I defeat him, we’ll never escape him.”

 

“You can’t do it alone--”

 

“Ezra,” She said over him, radiating the aura of the Master she once was. “you must face your trial in the temple, and I must face mine. We knew that running would not forever be an option for us, and now’s the time for change.”

 

“I… I don’t think I get it.” Ezra admitted quietly, turning away from her. She smiled and patted his shoulder.

 

“We are not Jedi, Ezra, and with this test, you’ll become something much _more_. Today, you start down the path to a new era of the Force.”

 

Ezra looked back to her, taking in her relaxed expression and the smile wrinkling her eyes. He smiled as well, concentrating on the controls. Dura fully believed in him, as a teacher and a friend. He didn’t think he needed much more than that.

 

“Y’know, I like this side of you much better.”

 

“So do I, my young bridger.”

 

**0XX0**

 

Coming out of hyperspace and drifting towards Ilum’s atmosphere, their suspicions had been confirmed. There was a Star Destroyer in orbit, as well as a few carriers and shuttles, but nothing came after them as they entered the frozen landscape. No one even came on their radio to interrogate them.

 

The ship was put on autopilot as Dura and Ezra dug out their fur coats and dressed up, ready to face the elements. The gale winds blew stronger than torrents against the ship, but it held steady as it touched upon the ice and snow, only feet away from the rubble that was once the gateway to the sacred Temple.

 

“He’s here.” Dura stated, feeling a cold that went far deeper than skin. Ezra swallowed and handed her his temporary lightsaber, connected together for the brawl. “Let’s do this.”

 

Ezra nodded and they went into the Temple, seeing only the surface destruction of what used to be a beautiful ice palace. Sunlight streamed in from the hole that used to be the gates, melting everything it touched. The entrance to the caves was still intact, just as Dura remembered them from decades ago.

 

And it was quiet.

 

“Go in,” Dura instructed, pointing to the entrance. “I’ll stay and drag him out of hiding. May the Force be with you.”

 

Ezra hesitated but jogged up the cracked steps, disappearing into the shadows with only his own instincts and his blaster. Dura watched him go, mentally searching for where the Inquisitor would hide and gripping both lightsabers.

 

“So, we finally meet.”

 

She turned around and there he was, standing by the rubble with that same grin and bloodthirsty glint in his glaring yellow eyes. She exhaled and ignited her lightsabers, numbing out her thumping heart.

 

“So it seems, Inquisitor. How ignorant of you to come alone.” She spat out, but the insult didn’t phase him. He came forward, brandishing his unique lightsaber that flared its red blade like a beast outside of its cage.

 

“You’ve proved quite the escape artist, Depa Billaba, but your time is up. I’ll take great joy in ridding the galaxy of the last Jedi Council member.”

 

Dura made the first move, sprinting towards the Inquisitor and swinging both blades at it. They clashed, saber against saber, but never getting closer than a few inches. His blades began to spin, forcing her to pull back and move away before her head came off.

 

He rushed towards her, taunting her for everything under the sun; her failure as a student, as a Master, and a Jedi. Her heart ached with every word but she did not respond. The more he talked, the more she faded out his voice. She couldn’t lose focus, not now.

 

She shifted into her favoured Form III stance, deflecting the vicious swings again and again and again, until her blades were trapped and her footing began to slip. He grinned down at her, pressing her down in his shadow.

 

“You’ve grown old, Master Billaba. You are not the warrior you once were.”

 

He kept pushing and pushing, backing her up against the wall and coming in close enough that she could feel the hairs on her skin start to burn away. She grunted and used all her strength just to keep him at bay, ignoring the sweat rolling down her forehead and freezing around her eyes.

 

He was right; she was old, not in her prime, but she was also not the Jedi Knight she had been trained as. She was something more.

 

She pushed back one more time, forcing him back and called upon the Force. Her lightsabers flashed off and she dropped to the ground, slipping between his legs with a speed reserved for younglings. She skidded to a stop some feet away, spun back around with her hand stretched out, commanding the rubble to pummel him.

 

He swung wildly to slice every rock that came at him, even as they sped up and made contact. One collided with his shoulder hard enough to send an echoing crack throughout the chamber. Dura slipped into fighting form again, closing her eyes and listening to the hum of her re-ignited lightsabers.

 

The Inquisitor ran at her again, roaring through the pain and channeling his anger into every strike. Dura blocked and dodged, over and over, until she slipped behind him and struck him across the back.

 

He held in his yell but she felt it resonate through the Force. His anger and pain was growing, as was his recklessness. He turned around to thrust and she twirled her lightsabers into a protective whirlwind, throwing off each blow like they were nothing. She was one with the Force, and nothing could touch her.

 

She stayed as close to his back as he spun, trying to reach her, and she switched her green lightsaber off, rolling away as a rock sent him onto his injured back. She opened her eyes and went after him, striking the ground as he adapted, dodged and ignored the little nicks she made against his armour.

 

Soon enough, he was back on his feet, visibly drained and furious. His lightsaber converted to a single blade and he threw himself into his attack. Dura held up against it, breathing deeper as they moved across the Temple in a few long strokes resembling a violent waltz. Their blades crackled and hissed with every hit, covering up any words they may have passed.

 

She pushed him back with a shove, sliding him several meters away from him, and took in his damage. His arm, though functioning, was bent in all the wrong ways, and his armour was splintering from the back. He couldn’t hold onto his lightsaber with the grip needed for it to spin without flying out of his hands, and she saw her winning shot.

 

 _Give me strength_ , she commanded. The Force flowed through her, stronger than ever, and she smiled. This is how it was meant to be.

 

They rushed at each other again and met in the middle, Inquisitor swinging his blade. Dura crouched down at the last second and kicked out at his legs with an extra Force push, sending him flying away from his lightsaber. He slammed up against a rock and didn’t move, even as she marched closer.

 

“A Jedi killer you may be,” Dura said, pointing her blue blade at his eyes. “but we are more than that. You cannot compare, so you fail and always will.”

 

“Kill me then.” He coughed out, glaring at her intensely.

 

“No.” She lifted her free hand up, pulling his lightsaber toward her and holding it above him. She curled her fingers and it crumpled into a deformed shape. She threw it away, looking at the Inquisitor with blank eyes. “I offer you mercy; to leave here and tell your master that you have failed.”

 

Fear filled the killer’s eyes as Dura backed away from him, giving ample room to get up and walk. Slowly, he got back up onto his feet, holding onto his shoulder and stared at her.

 

“I won’t give you the pleasure of mercy, _Jedi_.”

 

He hobbled out of the Temple, over the rubble and into the snowstorm. She watched every step, until he was nothing but white flakes, all the while wondering what kind of monsters Darth Vader and the Emperor were. She couldn’t imagine the kind of hope it would take to bring them down for good.

 

She heard shuffling as she turned her lightsaber off and turned to the cave entrance, where Ezra stood with a glowing crystal in his palm. He looked her over, wide-eyed and she responded with a relieved smile.

 

He ran over to her, a million questions pouring out but she heard none of them. She clipped her weapons to her belt and leaned against her student, feeling the rush of exhaustion digging down to her bones. Ezra led her away from the carnage of the battle, holding her upright and talking slowly. She just smiled and held him close, glad to have him back.

 

The beginning was starting to look bright.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man. OH MAN.
> 
> It’s finally done and I can rest in peace. I was meant to finish this days ago, but editing was cruel and took up a LOT of time (I also had to rewatch some Clone Wars episodes for details, which was tedious), but better late than never, right?
> 
> Be sure to check out related art over on my tumblr art blog, lochcamaenarts, and leave comments, reviews, kudos, favs - whatever!


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